No Secrets
by non-damsel
Summary: Phil apologizes to Melinda. At length. All Philinda, set before the finale.


"Get out of my room, Phil," she said without turning around. She didn't have to look to know it was Coulson who had quietly opened her door. No one else would dare to enter without knocking. She'd avoided him since they'd gotten back from the mission. Not that he would have noticed. He was too busy locked up in his office, talking to Fury or Maria Hill, harboring their oh-so-important secrets.

Secrets he'd kept from her. After Bahrain. After Tahiti. After HYDRA and Ward and the alien writing. After she'd dumped a bag on his desk and said, "No matter what. I'm getting you out." She had thought there were no more secret, no more reasons to keep them from each other. She had thought-

But it didn't matter what she'd thought. She'd been wrong.

When she heard the door click shut, she did turn around. She was not surprised to find him inside the of the door, not outside as requested. She was wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt, no bra. If she'd known he would show up tonight, she probably wouldn't have undressed. Except, maybe she had known. Maybe she'd wanted to see if this expression would cross his face, the one he was wearing now, a little surprised and a lot thrown off balance.

Well good. He deserved to be thrown off balance. A taste of his own medicine.

"Get out. Of. My room," she repeated, in that tone of voice that scared the shit out of everyone but him.

"Melinda." He said her name like a sigh or a prayer, suddenly looking so tired and so much older, and she could barely keep her anger at its proper boiling point. "Melinda, we have to be able to talk about this."

"Like we were about to talk about Theta Protocol? " she asked, and watched the words hit him like a slap in the face. She realized neither of them had moved since she'd turned around, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her movement produced a counter movement from him. He took a step towards her, she took a step back, and the back of her calves hit her bed.

"Like we were able to talk about you meeting with Andrew?" she continued, chin up, looking him straight in the eye. "You. Should. Have. Told me."

He dropped his arms to his sides helplessly. His sleeves were rolled up, tie haphazardly loosened and top button undone. Sure signs that he was stressed, but about what? About whatever Theta Protocol was? Or about this thing that was wrong between them?

"You're right," he said.

She sat down on the bed behind her, that honest look on his face in one moment breaking down all her defenses, cutting through all her anger. She rubbed her forehead with her hand. "How could you, Phil? How could you keep that from me? After everything..." She broke off, unable to finish the sentence. After everything they'd been through together. Always together.

She heard him move, then felt the bed sink as he sat down beside her. For a moment, silence, the two of them looking anywhere but at each other. He was so close, she could've laid her head on his shoulders.

"He made you laugh," he said.

She turned her head sharply, but he would not meet her gaze, and she had only his profile to study. Was this the answer? The key to the secrets he'd locked away from her? Had he shut her out because he'd been...jealous?

Of Andrew?

"Phil," she said, as calmly as she could. "Look at me." He did, and his eyes wore a look of defeat, like he'd given up the only secret he'd meant to keep. But her heart was pounding now; surely he could hear it. She shifted her body to face him, her knees brushing against his, and carefully began undoing his tie.

He stiffened immediately. It was really pretty adorable, how tense he became under her touch, how warily he was watching her. "What are you doing?" he asked, voice gravelly.

She discarded the tie and began to unbutton his shirt without speaking, the only sound in the room his increasingly ragged breath, until she had exposed the scar on his chest from Loki's scepter. She placed the palm of her hand over it, and he swallowed. Hard.

"If you could go back, as if it never happened, and be the person you were before, but have none of what you have now, would you want to?"

She watched as the light came back on in his eyes, the realization of what she was saying. "No," he said, his body finally relaxing beside her, his hand finding a natural resting position on her thigh. "No, I wouldn't."

She took his other hand hand and placed it over her own heart. "Neither would I. I don't want to go back. I want what I have."

He reached forward and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes were looking not just at her but into her, likely only he could. "You have me," he said quietly. A statement, but also a question, asking her if she meant what he thought she did.

Melinda nodded.

He had no more hesitation. In an instant, his lips had captured hers. There was this. There was kissing him, both of their mouths open and hungry, claiming every bit they could of each other. There was hearing him groan, "Melinda," as she repositioned herself in his lap, pushing the shirt she had already unbuttoned off his shoulders. One hand still fingered his scar, the other moved down his arm and chest.

His own hands had found her waist underneath the hem of her T shirt. She felt electric where he touched her, after all those years of wanting. If she lifted her arms above her head, she had a feeling he would help her with the shirt. Was he waiting for permission? She only wanted these hands, this mouth, on every part of her. No secrets.

She leaned back, just enough. "I believe you said you were going to apologize to me."

"Really? Now?" he panted. His eyes were heavy and slightly frustrated that she had broken their kiss. One of his hands slid a little south of her waist. She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, well, first of all-"

She cut him off there, rocking her hips against him where he was already hard, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "Actually don't tell me. Show me."

She drew her shirt over her head, tossed it on the floor beside his. It was all the permission he needed. He turned them both on the bed, his body on top of hers now, his mouth and tongue and hands exploring this newly exposed territory as she fumbled with his belt. She was losing control quickly. A hand had found its way below her waistband and-oh good lord, she couldn't think anymore.

"God Melinda," she heard him say roughly, his breath on her skin. "I'm in love with you."

She felt herself light up from the inside, all of the doubts and hurt and anger from the past few weeks eclipsed. Phil was in love with her. And she was in love with him. She pulled him back up to her mouth for a long, deep kiss.

"Show me," she said.

* * *

When her alarm clock rang, Melinda had to reach over a body to turn it off. Phil caught her while she was stretched across him and pulled her into him. There was this. There was lying her head against his chest, legs tangled together. Even with Andrew, she had never been much for cuddling. But with Phil, she would be happy never to move again just to feel his body against hers, where it belonged.

"Did we get any sleep at all?" he asked.

She tilted her chin to look up at him, trying to remember the last time she's seen him so relaxed. It was a good look on him. "You did say you were going to apologize _at length_."

He laughed, lazily combing a hand through her hair. "Man of my word."

It was really impossible not to kiss him. How she had resisted all these years she would never know.

"So," she said, laying her head back down on his chest. "Theta protocol."

And security levels be damned, he told her everything.

No secrets.


End file.
